Rossi: Meaning of Steelers preseason games is matter of perspective
CANTON, Ohio — Freddie wouldn't have considered this game meaningless.
She would have watched her Steelers and rooted for them as though the Minnesota Vikings were a Super Bowl opponent, not merely the first of five exhibition-game foes. She would have held Landry Jones to the same standard she has held Ben Roethlisberger or any of the Steelers quarterbacks that followed her “my guy,” Terry Bradshaw.
If you knew Fredericka Lewellyn, you knew better than to offer a bad word about one of her “my guys.” But you also knew that eventually every Steeler became one of her “my guys.”
We lost Freddie on Friday. She was 73, still too young.
Cancer needed 15 years to silence one of Crafton's most unmistakable whistles, to vanquish one of the most unapologetic champions for the students in Carlynton School District, to stop one of the Steelers' most unabashed fans from following her favorite team.
Some people can't be replaced.
Many of the people who played for the Steelers on Sunday night could be. Freddie would have given them her full attention, anyway. A mother to Lena, Ann, Evelyn and Billy, she also was one to almost all of us who grew up on both sides of Lincoln Avenue in the 1980s. And of Sunday night, Freddie might have said, “Robbie! If you were one of those players, do you know what I'd do if somebody wrote that your game was meaningless?”
You also knew not to answer Freddie's questions.
Answers, of course, are what Steelers coaches sought about Jones in this game. They had so many questions about the 115th prospect drafted in 2013, a stud signal caller at Oklahoma who has never dressed for an NFL game that counted.
Jones took to a high school field to try securing his Steelers' future. He hadn't played before a crowd so small since owning the Class AAAA scene in New Mexico, leading his Artesia High School to consecutive state championships. And Jones probably felt less pressure then than he did Sunday morning, knowing he would soon play most of this game.
It counted for Jones.
It mattered for Will Allen, even though his job with the Steelers was secure.
He is the top backup at each safety position, a veteran of 11 seasons whose 12th kicked off with a second Hall of Fame game. He hadn't played for the Dallas Cowboys in the 2013 contest, but that hadn't prevented a lot of memories from nearly overcoming him as he watched.
Allen's hometown, Dayton, is about a three-hour drive — a little longer when traveling by school bus — from the home of Pro Football's Hall of Fame. As a senior at Wayne High School, Allen was obsessed with taking that little longer drive because it would have meant playing in the high-school state championship game.
“In Ohio, people from all over the state come to see that game,” Allen said. “But first you have to get there, so I feel blessed that I did.”
With a guaranteed spot on the Steelers' roster, Allen owned what Jones coveted. With a couple of state championship banners at his high school, Jones had delivered twice what Allen failed to do once.
Football can teach life lessons. It also can make life easier to take for those of us who don't play football for a living.
In the summer of 2011, Freddie and her eldest daughter attended an annual festival at the Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church on the North Side. Freddie spotted another one of her “my guys” dancing. Arthritic knees would not prevent her from cutting in.
“She saw him, went up to him and said, ‘Could I join you?' ” Lena Lewellyn said. “Actually, she just took his hand, and he just smiled and danced with her.
“She didn't dance much after that.”
One of Freddie's last dances was with Troy Polamalu. And maybe somebody would have considered that dance as meaningless as this first of five Steelers games that didn't count.
But meaning is a matter of perspective.
Rob Rossi is a staff writer for Trib Total Media. Reach him at rrossi@tribweb.com or via Twitter @RobRossi_Trib.
